


New Beginnings

by asideofourown



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Challenge Response, Don't copy to another site, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23825101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asideofourown/pseuds/asideofourown
Summary: “Right,” Aziraphale said with a sigh.  For the first time, Crowley noticed that he was clutching a book to his chest, a narrow, sleek thing— not his usual dusty fare.  Aziraphale pressed his lips together and then straightened his spine before saying, “I think it’s time to leave London.”Crowley’s jaw dropped, and he stared stupidly at Aziraphale before spluttering, “Youwhat?”[Six weeks after the world doesn't end, Aziraphale shows up at Crowley's door holding a book]
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 296
Collections: Name That Author Round One





	New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a guess-the-author game in the GO Events server, with the prompt _Six weeks after the world doesn't end, Aziraphale shows up at Crowley's door holding a book._ Participating was a blast, and I'm honestly just excited a few people managed to guess my identity and that I was able to guess a few others correctly :D Thanks so much to [Cherry](https://ao3.org/users/curtaincall) for hosting!!!
> 
> Enjoy!

Crowley paced restlessly around his flat, pretending like he wasn’t fretting. Aziraphale had rung him earlier that morning and had been worryingly cryptic. He should _know_ by now, Crowley thought sourly, that telling someone that they ‘needed to talk’ and then refusing to elaborate was— 

The doorbell rang. Crowley ran his fingers through his hair to ruffle it artfully, adjusted his glasses to make sure they were on, and then opened the door with an unconcerned, crooked grin. “Morning.” 

Aziraphale startled when the door opened, and said, “Well, given that it’s nearly three, I don’t—“ 

Crowley opened the door a little wider, ushering his best friend inside. “ _Semantics_ , Aziraphale.” He shut the door more aggressively than he had intended and then hooked his thumbs through his belt loops, leaning against the wall. “You said you wanted to talk?” 

“Right,” Aziraphale said with a sigh. For the first time, Crowley noticed that he was clutching a book to his chest, a narrow, sleek thing— not his usual dusty fare. Aziraphale pressed his lips together and then straightened his spine before saying, “I think it’s time to leave London.” 

Crowley’s jaw dropped, and he stared stupidly at Aziraphale before spluttering, “You _what?”_

Aziraphale handed him the book. Crowley flipped it open to find that it was some sort of promotional shit, the kind that a fervent realtor might hand out, about moving to the south coast. “It’s time for a change,” Aziraphale murmured, and Crowley’s eyes snapped up. 

“Change?” he repeated. “Angel, you’ve worn the same bloody waistcoat for 200 years.” 

Aziraphale set his jaw. “Well, it’s _never_ too late to try something new,” he said firmly. 

Crowley flipped through the book, nose wrinkling at the cute little cottages in their cute little towns, at photos of the sea and hills and sky. At the place Aziraphale _apparently_ wanted to go. Away from _him._

Crowley closed the book with a snap and handed it back to Aziraphale, staring up at the ceiling. “Right,” he said, voice steady and flat. “Well, lemme know if you need a lift, I suppose. Could fit some of your books in the Bentley’s boot, or—” 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale replied softly. “I. I want a change— since the bookstore was restored it’s not quite the same, but I would never— _bother_ , I’ve bollocksed this up.” 

Crowley glanced up sharply. _That_ was the strongest language he had heard from Aziraphale in some three centuries. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said slowly, opening his book to a picture of a little cottage by the sea. He handed the book to Crowley and the image shimmered— suddenly a black Bentley was parked in the driveway, and bookshelves and plants were visible through the windows. “Do you want to move to the South Downs with me?” 

Crowley stared down at the photo, his head spinning, his mouth dry. He looked up at Aziraphale again, found him waiting with a cautiously hopeful expression. Crowley exhaled slowly and gave him a shaky smile back. “When do we leave?”

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely check out some of the other fics in the collection if you get a chance, there were a lot of amazing submissions for this game! Thanks for reading, I really hope you enjoyed! I'm [here](https://asideofourown.tumblr.com/) if that's something you're into


End file.
